


not done looking yet

by trashyeggroll



Category: Xena: Warrior Princess
Genre: F/F, FIN Spoilers, Fluff and Smut, Modern Setting, Oral Sex, PWP, Quickies, Seasons 5 & 6 Spoilers, Sexual Roleplay, Strap-Ons, clonefic, prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-11 21:45:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19934989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashyeggroll/pseuds/trashyeggroll
Summary: In 2019, the Gabrielle and Xena clones have been doing this “modern life” thing for almost two decades when the Battling Bard gets her hands on a rare surprise for Xena’s birthday.





	not done looking yet

**Author's Note:**

> A smutty love letter to XWP, my loves, my gay awakening, my heroes. 
> 
> Tumblr prompt asked for X/G roleplaying warlord/captive, but I promise there's fluff in here too.

“Better. Again.”

There’s a soft round of grunting as the DARPA trainees go at it again, hands locking and feet kicking as they try to muscle each other out of the circle taped on the ground. Xena’s more used to focusing on just one protege at a time, but having a whole class of them has grown on the retired warrior, and in a way, the structure of the secretive government organization reminded her of the Amazons. She could lean into that in the moments her “superiors” made decisions that set her teeth on edge. 

After defeating Alti—yet again—and spending some months learning how to get on in the early 2000s, Xena and Gabrielle had eventually been tracked down and approached by the U.S. Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency, apparently having identified the women via facial recognition technology as Xena of Amphipolis and Gabrielle of Poteidaia. How the agency knew their names and faces in the first place, they had never truly been told, but in the end, they’d accepted the offer the agency put on the table:

A new life, in exchange for a day job passing age-old knowledge to the latest generations.

Magic, gods, war, evil. The enemies with DARPA remained the same, in some cases literally, and Xena and Gabrielle had unique insight on how to fight a risen Odin, trap roving hydras, and find dangerous magical artifacts. They even consulted on some alien attacks, given their penchant for strategizing on the fly. The main difference between Then and Now was humanity at large’s ignorance of all this; in almost all cases, they treated the stories of the Olympians as some allegory or myth. Granted, a lot of the myth they followed was wrong, but they had figured out a fair amount of the plotlines.

No matter.  _ Xena _ knew better; she had killed many of those Olympians herself, so their existence was more or less a moot point in the year they called 2019.

Familiar, soft footsteps alert her to a person approaching from behind, and it’s followed by a quiet: “How’re they doing?”

“Callisto could wipe the floor with the whole group with one hand cut off,” sighs Xena, rubbing the bridge of her nose as one of the cadets trips over his own feet and falls out of the ring, untouched by his opponent. “I’m calling that one Joxer.”

Gabrielle chuckles as she comes up shoulder to shoulder with her wife, dressed in a navy blue jumpsuit and boots. She’s kept the short hair thing going, modernized over their 20th century years, and now layered with white around her temples, but still otherwise strawberry blonde as ever. Her chief responsibilities are in the areas of translating and interpreting ancient text into modern English, hoping to avoid lost-in-translation snafus like the ludicrous notion the Bible condemned homosexuality. The powers that be were  _ very _ interested in finding the ancient recipe for Greek Fire, which Xena knew by heart of course, but she wouldn’t dream of handing it over to the United States government, employer or no. They had nothing but her word to go on, anyway. 

“Ah, well. At least their armor’s a lot better these days,” chuckles the bard, arms crossed. “And their weapons.”

“Guns,” sneers Xena. Entirely more troublesome than they were worth. 

“Your charges about finished?”

The warrior sighs as two trainees bump heads and wince, completely stopping their fight to piteously rub the points of impact. “Ten minutes. See you outside?”

—

Driving vehicles had taken a long time for Xena to accept, and she still doesn’t  _ enjoy _ it per se, so Gabrielle tends to be the default household chauffeur, expertly taking them the fifty miles or so to their ten-acre homestead… with an inevitably dozing warrior in her passenger seat of their Subaru hatchback by the time Gabrielle pulled down their private gravel drive.

Argo IV whinnies as soon as their doors open, and Xena whistles to the horse to follow as she somewhat groggily heads off for the evening chores. Argo IV is the second horse they’ve raised in the twentieth century, this one about ten years old and a bit closer in personality to the original Argo than II or III had been, but much lighter in color than her predecessors. If Xena had a choice, she would still ride her trusty steed everywhere—to Target, the farmer’s market, and work—but the fact that her warrior could no longer ride horseback for more than a few hours without significant pain later helped soothe that modern cultural insult. She ultimately relented when Gabrielle pointed out that such travels would put Argo in more danger than anything.

Routine was something they’d had in their best years, back in “Ancient Greece”: The warrior and the bard, wandering forests, defeating monsters, and helping the common people along the way. There’d been Xena’s trusty frying pan sizzling with fish each morning, the two of them snug under the stars and fur blankets each night. She did miss that life, at times, but knowing how their stories ended back then, torn apart in a faraway land… Gabrielle could live with this.  _ Like _ this, with her aging warrior carrying bright blue buckets of feed across the pens to their small herd of goats, with Argo prancing behind her. Despite the occasional bout of boredom around their quiet homestead, with some exceptions,  _ this _ was what they’d always wanted: Safety. Stability. To be left alone, for once. Nobody knew them, and they had no reason to bother anyone else.

It had taken a long time for the two to find out what happened to Eve, partly because of misleading translations, but also because records of her travels seemed to dry up after Xena’s death. Answers came in the form of a previously undiscovered trove of Amazon scrolls: Eve had joined a grieving Gabrielle to live amongst the Amazons, eventually settling down with Varia in a then-newly founded tribe in Thrace, during the nation’s expansive years. Finding that tidbit had been another healed wound in her Xena’s already-mangled heart, though she knew the warrior would’ve given anything to see Eve again. Back in those days, she probably would’ve been able to  _ find _ a way, too.

But the power of gods dwindled alongside belief in them, and humans had pillaged sacred places of most of their power by now. 

So here they were: the warrior and the bard, but also Agent Amphipolis and Agent Poteidaia, or just Xena and Gabrielle around their homestead. She loved every second of it.

Tonight, however… she had a surprise blast from the past for her cranky warrior. Approximating dates from their old life, Xena’s birthday was coming up, and the bard had acquired an early gift from the Smithsonian (with zero intention to return it, whether or not they knew that yet).

The surprise was, after all, Xena’s to begin with. 

After dinner and before they can get too settled on the couch, Gabrielle makes up an excuse vague enough to get Xena’s spidey senses tingling, then pads into the spare room on the first floor of their house to find the acquisition. She goes back into the living room carrying a long, flat box made of plain white cardboard; wrapping paper seemed off-flavor for what the bard was hoping to get as a reaction to the gift. 

Xena’s ice-blue eyes had zeroed in on it as soon as the bard came back into view, jaw growing taut in a familiar expression of cautious curiosity. The streaks of gray in her warrior’s hair make her look distinguished, like a tenured professor at a small women’s college, but her centuries-old love for the tall woman gingerly opening the box hasn’t faded one bit. 

“Is this…?” murmurs Xena, lifting the edge of the thin paper inside to view the contents of her surprise. “How _ in Tartarus _ did you?!”

“It took  _ a lot _ of free tips for some archaeologists near Corinth.” Gabrielle chews her lip as she watches Xena unfold leather and metal, skin tingling just at the familiar sound, and huffs, “Is it okay?”

“Is it  _ okay? _ Gabrielle, this is like… it’s like…” The older woman sighs, eyes looking a bit misty, and takes the bard’s hand to pull her onto her lap, the box set carefully on their barnwood coffee table. “A little piece of home. Kinda dark to think that though, huh?”

“Pretty sure we’re way past ‘too soon’ for almost everything.” The blonde smiles, brushing a palm over those sharp cheekbones, fingertips near the crow’s feet that mark the passage of time. The  _ natural _ passage of it, at least. She clears her throat, remembering her miniature plan for the gift, and drops her voice to ask, “Do you… want to try it on? Take it out for a spin?”

“What, right now?” Xena’s not paying close enough attention to Gabrielle’s body language, her focus instead intently admiring a softly tinkling leather and metal headpiece, and her voice sounds completely unengaged with what the bard is saying. 

So the blonde goes an octave lower, a hand landing on the warrior’s knee. “I know  _ I _ would like that.”

Finally, that works. The warrior’s head jerks up with a brief stammer, and then she lets her expression shift into a lopsided smirk. “Oh… would you now?”

Gabrielle nods, kissing that perfect nose and nodding toward the stairs. 

—

_ Okay. This is going better than you thought it would. _

Putting on this particular outfit wasn’t quite like ‘riding a bicycle’, as the time period locals would say. Training and keeping up with their farm had kept Xena in good shape, though her musculature was made of leaner, more wiry strength than her young, bulked out conqueror self. All of that was to say, the leathers were just a  _ bit _ big on her these days, but she was admittedly pleased with the final, struggle-laden result. 

The outfit she wore when riding alongside Borias was one to match her warlord personality—flashy, brash, and arrogant. The chainmail formed of coins  _ clinks _ as she slides it over her shoulders, affixing the buckles and securing the top tightly. That helps it not look big anymore, and Xena takes a deep breath as she drops the headpiece into place, pulling the decorative chain down one side. Last on are the gauntlets, lined with soft fox fur that seems to have not aged a day. 

She regards herself in the bathroom’s full length mirror, twisting and turning to make sure nothing’s out of place. Even if adorning such a thing wasn’t easy to relearn, Xena needed no encouragement to remember the  _ feeling _ of it. There are nicks in the shiny chestpiece where men and women came close to doing what so many had failed to do. How different might the world be if they had succeeded? 

But for now, none of that mattered. The smell of tanned leather and steel is like a bolt of lightning in a dry field, igniting a long lost thrill—thundering on horseback in front of thousands willing to die at her word, shield and axe and spears dropping under her sword, the rush of victory and control. 

Swallowing a last flair of nervousness, the retired warlord pokes her head out of the en suite, earning a muffled chuckle from her wife waiting on the bed. 

“Let me see,” encourages Gabrielle with a wave of her fingers. “Come on.”

Xena clears her throat as she shifts into the doorway, watching the bard’s face carefully. Moss green eyes flicker over the armor, and Gabrielle’s jaw drops open slightly, her chest rising and falling faster. Xena can tell from across the room. 

“Not quite the same, but still fits,” offers the warrior as she moves closer, boots heavy and loud on the wood floors. This was never an outfit meant for stealth. 

The bard’s jaw moves up and down silently a few times, and her voice is strained as she says, “I think it looks  _ great.” _

“‘Great?’” teases Xena as she stops at the edge of the bed. Gabrielle’s changed into just a pair of sleep shorts and a tank top, and the warrior lets her eyes take in plush hips and breasts, the softness of her bard’s belly and thighs. She’s strong as she’s ever been, but like Xena, the ever-flowing waters of time have left their changes. As far as she’s concerned, Gabrielle looks more beautiful with each passing day.  _ “That’s _ the best adjective I get from the  _ Bard of Poteidaia _ after stuffing myself in this thing?”

The blonde blinks slowly, and her green eyes are dark when she shrugs and says, “I guess I’m a little speechless, warlord.”

Xena pauses. Gabrielle is grinning up at her, laid back on the pillows like a queen, completely innocently, or so she might look to the untrained eye… and Xena is anything  _ but _ in this realm. It’s one of her many talents. The warrior adjusts her chestpiece, flicking one side of her long hair behind a shoulder. 

“It’s a fine bed, isn’t it? A small village girl like me… I wouldn’t know,” continues the bard, demurely turning her eyes down. 

Speechless no more, it seems. The warrior makes a wide circle around the bed in question, keeping her eyes focused not on Gabrielle’s greens, but her body, overtly drinking in the creamy skin. She sees Gabriele’s legs fall a little bit farther apart, and there’s an answering rush of blood away from Xena’s brain, southward. “Your small village put up a good fight against my men. Should I expect the same from you, girl?”

Gabrielle shrugs, still lounging, and Xena knows it’s the first move in their game. She stalks to the foot of the bed and takes hold of the blonde’s ankles, dragging her farther down until she’s standing between Gabrielle’s thighs, the blonde sitting up with her cheeks reddening.

“Let me get a good look at you. Take this off.”

When there’s no response, just a slight tilt of the head, Xena reaches down to grab handfuls of the flimsy fabric of her tank top and promptly rip it open, earning a small gasp from the blonde, before yanking down her shorts and tugging those off, too. She tosses away the scraps and pauses, examining the reddening mark where the shirt ripped against Gabrielle’s skin. Bringing up one hand, the warrior hooks a finger under her bard’s chin and waits until those green eyes, nearly swallowed up by blackness, meet hers. It’s a silent exchange, meant only for lovers who know each other this well, and once Xena gets the consent she needs, the grip on Gabrielle’s chin tightens, and she pushes the blonde’s head away roughly. 

—

Oddly, it’s the first time Gabrielle has seen Xena in  _ this _ outfit in person. She’s seen historical renderings and written secondhand descriptions of it, but the full effect is… striking. Her six-foot warrior looks every bit the haughty, untouchable warlord of lore, and the armor appears designed just as much for function as it is to show off Xena’s long arms and broad shoulders, glinting in the lamplight as she walks backward, away from the bed, and sits on a nearby chair. 

“I don’t know if you’re ready for the bed, girl,” chides Xena, Destroyer of Nations, through the side of her mouth. She gestures to her lap with a flick of her chin, then raises an eyebrow. “For what I’d give you.”

Gabrielle unfolds her feet from under her and stands, completely bared for her fully clad warrior, and the power dynamic of the stark difference makes her shiver. Xena looks like an emperor on her throne, her sharp eyes sparing no inch of the blonde’s exposed skin. 

“What can I do?” she asks, somewhat surprised by the nervousness in her own voice.

“On your knees. You’ll service me here. You do know what that means?”

Another shudder grips Gabrielle’s spine, and she has to take a breath before replying, “Yes, Conqueror.”

Xena’s eyes flash, and then darken at the title, and her tone is tighter as she growls, “Then get on your knees.”

Holding back a smile when the warrior surreptitiously slips a pillow on the floor in the intended location, Gabrielle pads forward and sinks onto it, bracing both hands on Xena’s knees. “And you’ll let me in your bed?”

“If you’re good. Now stop talking and show me what they’ve taught you here.” 

For however long it might’ve taken Xena to tie the hand cut laces to her leather trousers, Gabrielle easily remembers the best way to undo such things, shortly pushing the loosened pants down the warrior’s strong thighs. 

Xena’s staring down at her with a steely expression, but Gabrielle can see the pulse thudding in her warrior’s neck, and for her own part, she can already feel wetness gathering between her legs. She considers the patch of thick black curls at eye level, and then ducks down farther, until she’s crouched near Xena’s feet. The bard kisses along the warlord’s shins, swirls her tongue around the bony knobs of her ankles, dragging back up to graze her teeth across scarred knees. There’s a slight hitch of breath from above as Gabrielle nibbles closer to her goal, reveling in the goodebumps that rise along powerful thighs. 

“Stop teasing me,” is the only warning the blonde gets before long fingers tangle in her hair and drag her forward, until her nose is pressed against coarse hair and warm, sticky arousal smears against her lips. She flicks her tongue out for the familiar, musky taste and just barely stifles a groan—but then she remembers her directive and drops her shoulders. Xena’s clit is easy enough to find, swollen and pulsing as her tongue slides in wet circles, lashing near the sensitive head. 

“Keep looking at me.” The conqueror hasn’t taken her hand out of Gabrielle’s hair, and the tenseness of her grip edges just along pain, just enough to make the bard throb in appreciation of the show of force. 

With silky wetness spreading across her tongue, flowing down her chin, Gabrielle is in no place to respond verbally. She takes breaths through her nose when she can, the smell and taste and feel of  _ Xena _ filling her senses, and keeps her eyes locked on icy blues as she closes her lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves and sucks, her tongue massaging the conqueror's clit. 

Xena’s grunting above her, hips subtly thrusting against Gabrielle’s mouth, and her lips are slightly parted in an almost  _ sneering _ expression that makes the bard’s thighs reflexively squeeze tight, already desperate for some sensation, some pressure. 

“That’s it,” growls the warlord through clenched teeth, sliding her hand down to the back of Gabrielle’s neck. “Show me how good you can be, girl. That’s it,  _ fuck.” _

Between the patronizing nickname and the cursing, Gabrielle’s feeling a little frenzied as she licks and sucks with renewed fervor. She can feel her conqueror's thighs tensing, knows it means she’s close, and the bard’s eyes roll back and close, preparing for it, and Xena’s moans are rising—

Gabrielle makes a small, surprised noise when the hand on the back of her neck suddenly grips and pulls, yanking her away with a slick pop, her lips immediately chilled in the open air. She blinks, startled and confused, as Xena holds her in place with one hand, and then shoves the other between her own legs. It takes just a few strokes before the warrior jerks forward and comes with a relieved sigh, the slick sound of her rhythmically moving fingers filling the air. 

“Why did you—“

“Quiet,” snaps Xena, impressively quickly considering she seems to be still coming, hips stuttering. “What did I say?”

“You said…” Gabrielle pauses, panting helplessly as Xena holds her like a pup by the scruff of her neck, and the needy ache in her core is blazing so hot she can hardly think. “To keep looking at you.”

“Good girl,” murmurs the warlord with a tilt of her head, and the bard feels an answering tug against her clit at the arrogant tone. “I said if you were good, you’d get your reward. But now we have to start all over again.”

Xena’s no gentler with her the second round, both hands gripping the blonde’s shoulders, and her hips are moving with such force that the chair’s moving. At the last moment, with the warlord’s muscles tightening, there’s a tiny, rebellious part of Gabrielle that rears its head, the same part that made her an Amazon Queen and the Battling Bard. She closes her eyes again right before the tide, and Xena rips her away again, groaning as she brings herself over the edge for a second time. A whimper escapes her throat before she can stop it; she may have brought that upon herself, but she still can barely stand having to watch, not getting her reward, for a second time. 

The conqueror sees right through the pleading noise. Instead of taunting her again, Xena instead reaches down and drags two fingers through Gabrielle’s soaked labia, but then immediately takes them back. She holds them up, a glistening string of wetness between her forefinger and middle finger. “If you don’t want me to throw you out of my tent to sleep in your stables, you’ll do as I say.”

And this time, Xena takes hold of the bard’s head with one hand, moves her pelvis forward, and rides Gabrielle’s face, with the blonde just finding rare moments for air along the way. The conqueror’s muttering darkly between panting breaths, about how good her mouth feels, about how pretty she looks like this. The bard keeps her eyes up and open, feeling her own arousal dripping down her thighs as the warlord roughly takes her pleasure, and when Xena comes again, at last Gabrielle’s tongue is right there, feeling the seizing pulses and lapping at the gush of warm wetness against her chin. 

“There we go,” laughs Xena, an empty and cold sound. “Even you country peasants can follow orders.”

Gabrielle has trouble forming a response. Her skin’s prickly, hot all over, and she’s quite certain if she doesn’t find some relief for the pressure pounding between her legs soon, she’ll lose her mind. 

“What was that, girl? Hmm? Speak up.” 

The bard swallows thickly, still tasting Xena on her mouth. “Can I—will you show me your bed now, Conqueror?”

Xena seems to take some time to consider it, and then she puts a single finger to the blonde’s sternum and presses, forcing her back onto her heels as a stinging pain radiates from the spot. “Get on the bed, on your stomach. Wait for me.”

Though she’s a little sore, Gabrille manages to stumble to the bed, landing on hands and knees, then lowering her heated cheek to the cool comforter. She can hear Xena moving around the room, opening and closing a familiar drawer, and her pulse ratchets up at the sound of it. There’s a soft grunt, and then wide palms smoothing over her raised backside, firm, but gentle. 

Not so with Xena’s voice: “You look so good like this. Ready for me.”

It’s not a question. “Please,” murmurs the bard, spreading her knees wider. “Conqueror.”

“Hold still.”

Something cold, broad, and slick presses against her entrance, and Gabrielle bites her lip to muffle a gasp. She’s more than ready, though, and the gasp tapers into a grateful moan as the head of the toy pops inside her. Craning her neck to look over her shoulder, the blonde sees Xena’s not wearing a harness, and that means she knows exactly which cock is slowly but surely splitting her open, thick and long, and attached to a smaller section inside the warrior. 

A hand covers the back of her head again, pushing her cheek into the mattress, and Xena bottoms out, her hips giving a testing rock against the back of Gabrielle’s thighs that rips another moan out of the bard. She’s stuffed full, her mind hazy from the pressure of it, and she hears pleading, piteous noises falling out of her throat when Xena pulls back. The slow glide of the ridged cock against her inner walls has sweat beading on her neck, sparks of pleasure zipping around her spine. 

Xena gives one more lazy thrust, in and almost completely out, allowing the bard’s muscles to adjust—but then her hips snap forward on the next pass, and the warlord picks up a quick, forceful rhythm, grunting and growling as she looms over the blonde’s back. Her armor’s clinking in time with her movements now, and the brush of the fur on her gauntlets as she grips and squeezes Gabrielle’s hips are subtle, insistent reminders of just who is fucking her into the mattress. The Destroyer of Nations, the woman who’s slain gods and created new ones. She’s raised and destroyed armies on her force of will and the fierceness of her sword, and she’s both filled Tartarus with souls and stolen a few from it, too. All that power, all that mythos and danger is moving behind her like a rising hurricane, powerful muscles dragging her back and forth across the bed. Taking  _ her _ as subject. 

The conqueror snarls when the toy slips out, skidding along Gabrielle’s neglected clit, and then she shoves back inside in one rough thrust that makes the blonde’s eyes roll back. The thick length inside her is dragging perfectly along her sensitive front wall with each pass, and she can feel her muscles tensing, gripping tighter, unwilling to be denied her happy ending this time. 

“So good,” pants Xena, her voice sounding tinny and faraway, muffled by the obscene, wet slap of skin on skin. “You take me so well. Such a good girl. So—hnff—tight.”

Gabrielle opens her mouth as if she has some response, but all that comes out is a choked wail. 

“Do you want to come?”

Oh, she does. The bard can feel sweet release building in her lower belly, a swelling tide that threatens to break her apart. She can only manage to say, “Yes-yes-yes,” like a worshipful chant. 

“You can do better than that.”

A flash of self-righteous anger hits Gabrielle in the chest, and she wants to curse the warrior she can practically hear smirking behind her, but she also desperately  _ needs _ to come, so her lips fall open and a suddenly thick tongue cries, “Yes,  _ please _ Xena, please, let me come. Make me come. Conqueror, please _ —fuck!” _

Somehow, Xena had the presence of mind to reach around Gabrielle’s hips and swipe callused fingers against her clit. Just that light contact, and then a few swift circles, and the bard goes sailing over the edge, muscles fluttering wildly around the cock still thrusting into her. She bites into the sheets, nearly screaming into the fabric as pleasure and relief wash over her skin, just starting to fade from the lightning strike peak when Xena slides impossibly deep one last time and groans into Gabrielle’s sweaty back. She can feel the alternating tension and release of their muscles around each end of the toy, and the warrior grunts into her skin until everything grows quiet and still. 

—

With the frantic energy gone from the air, replaced with a syrupy contentment, Xena slowly withdraws from her wife, rubbing a soothing hand down her back, and then gingerly pulls it from her own body before collapsing next to Gabrielle on the bed. She may still be in good shape, but time exacts its toll on everyone, even the Destroyer of Nations, and her joints are a bit extra tight and creaky as she stretches out her limbs. 

The warrior rests quietly for a bit, fighting sleep—she’s still armored, and that’s no way to spend the next eight hours—and eventually glaces over to see equally drowsy, but happy, emerald eyes looking back at her. 

“You okay?” murmurs Xena reflexively.

“I am  _ way better _ than okay.” The bard backs that up with a cheery smile that makes Xena’s heart lurch, like it has since the first time she set eyes on Gabrielle of Poteidaia. Millenia ago, technically speaking. None of the attraction, of their bodies and souls, has faded.

She eventually musters the self-control to force herself back out of the bed, considering her outfit. The trousers had been yanked off when she got the dildo from the drawer, but the bottom leather edge of her chestpiece has some… stains on it. 

“Don’t worry,” says Gabrielle as she rearranges the pillows, which had been jostled out of place. “There’s no one else more qualified in this world than us to get that clean.”

Xena has to agree, grinning as she dumps the rest of the clothing and takes a quick shower in their bathroom, a little saddened to wash away the smell of leather and metal alongside sweat and come. That particular bouquet, perhaps more so than the armor, had sent her mind reeling back to those magical days, but she’s come to accept that no human on the planet lives without some form of regret and nostalgia for their younger years. Hers is just based in Ancient Greece. 

Having freshened up in the sink, Gabrielle is already tucked into bed when the warrior gets out of the shower, which is a modern upgrade to river baths that Xena can more than appreciate. No leeches, for a start. She slips under the comforter next to her wife and pulls her close, letting the blonde rest her head on her shoulder.

They’ve died together and apart over and over again, each time finding a way back to each other. But this branch of Xena and Gabrielle—they got the chance to  _ live. _

**Author's Note:**

> Xena's outfit... you know [the one.](http://i51.tinypic.com/t6duyr.jpg)
> 
> yell at me on tumblr [@trashyeggroll](https://trashyeggroll.tumblr.com/)


End file.
